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The deadline for applications to SL11B Community Celebration is rapidly approaching - and the MadMan is here to remind you to get your application in!

The MadMan from the future journeys back to the very beginning of Second Life to show us that we're on the edge of the deadline for applications to perform on the stages, in the auditorium or to exhibit.

Applications close on Tuesday 20th May at 12 noon SLT - don't miss the deadline!

How do I find out more?
You can find out more by following the official blog, and by following on Facebook and Twitter.
There is also a Flickr page where you can paste your own images when the sims open. You make see some sneak images from the team before that so keep watching!

The bridge door swung open and a bedraggled woman stumbled in.
"Sir,
we found this stowaway, poking around the nor' west cloud storage. No
sign of dust on her but I had 'er drenched just in case." A dark,
thickset man with a rich black beard appeared in the doorway behind the
scared looking woman. "And sir, she says Babbage sent her!" A sharp
intake of breath passed audibly around the room and with two strides the
captain covered the distance between them.
"Babbage!" The woman
cowered as the captain growled, his face inches from her own. "So he
lives, I guess anything is possible. What does he want with us?”
"I..I d..d..don't understand?" The woman cowered. "Who lives? I..I..I'm just a reporter."
“Yes. A spy, sent ot report on us, but not a very good one it seems.”
“No
sir, j..just a r..r..reporter, I work for the Daily Prim in New
Babbage.” The captain stood up to his full height to regard the woman.
“New Babbage?” His brow furrowed quizzically. “Stephenson, take her away. Take her to see Our Lady, help her dry off a bit.”
“Aye
sir,” the woman’s captor stepped forward, grabbing her harshly by her
clothing and dragging her stumbling out onto the decks. “you got lucky
lass, the cap’n is feeling lenient it seems, I’d have seen you thrown
o’erboard”.
“Stephenson!" The captin's voice rang out clearly from the still open door. "I don’t want to hear of any accidents.”
“Aye sir”, the man growled shooting a dark look at the trembling woman.
“Something
is not right here,” the captain turned to his first mate. "How'd she
come to be on Asperatus and to have passed through the storms without us
knowing and why would his name be the first thing she
mentioned. I reckon it'd be about the last word I utter if I wanted to
keep my feet on solid metal."
“On
your knees girl! You are about to meet Our Lady of Steam”, the captive
found herself pushed to floor, in the centre of a large open platform.
The throbbing and hissing of great steam engines enveloped her, the
floor shaking with their strokes. Stephenson stepped forwards to pull a
lever and slowly a shining brass sun turned, drawing back the bolt that
held two giant doors closed. As the doors swung, the girl found herself
shoved forward, pushed by a booted foot at her back. She turned her face
to save her looks as she fell head-first to the deck. Rough hands
unbound her arms. “Get up! And get shovelling”
"Our lady of
steam...", the young woman stared up at the towering arrangement of
pipes and tanks, a boiler in human form, a many armed goddess. Behind
her the clang of the doors resounded through the high ceilinged
boiler-room, and as she heard the whirring, clicking sound of the lock
mechanism sealing her inside she picked up the shovel and began to feed
the furnace the burned between the goddess' thighs.
Day 3 - The Faire is in full swing. Role play action from the Sanctuary group in Mourningvale Thicket, the Rickety Weasels in Wiggenstead Mooring and the Neo-Victorians in Asperatus and NeoLondon are drawing followers, follow the links to learn more and perhaps offer your help. Whilst the imminent launch of the first of the two hunts that the Faire will feature this year is on everybody's lips.

Outside,
an ear-splitting chorus of metal scraping across metal, the giant
mechanisms of Asperatus strained, and twisted in their restraints,
punctuated by the gunshot timpany of snapping cables sent writhing
lethally through the storm as their tension was released. Inside,
silence, not a soul daring to breath.

Without warning
the howling winds ceased, the metallic screams diminished to rumbling
moans as things settled back in to their new places. Outside the view
transformed, a solid blanket of grey white cloud rolled placidly beneath
them. The crew on the bridge stood mouths agape, outside people were
emerging gingerly from their homes. gathering on the platforms and
starting slowly, a ripple of elation swept through the population.

“Bring us to a halt, Pilot.” Commanded the captain, a note of relief evident in his voice.
“No need sir, we ain’t moving. Her engines are turning but it's like she’s being held, sir.”
“Then
bring them to idle, but leave them turning.” With this he turned his
large frame to the brass speaking tubes and looking out to the crowds
beyond the window with a smile, he addressed his people.
“Ladies
and Gentlemen, the legends tell us of the confluence, a coming together
of disparate times and places, a conjoining, a uniting of wit and
wisdom, against the scourge that plagues all our realms. None of us knew
with any certainty whether this were a voyage of discovery or folly;
the meticulous records of our learned ancestors told us where to come
to, and when, but nobody knew whether we could make it through. As we
stand here today, the journals will record us as we enter into history.
Ladies and Gentlemen of Asperatus, I give you the Fairelands!” Outside,
the crowds were growing as every man, woman and child emerged from the
safety of their dwelling, blinking in the day light to see the new
landscape. “Everyone of us now is a pioneer, there is no blueprint or
plan for what comes next. But first things first, it seems we have
happened upon a fine crop of cloud. Deploy the farm, let’s get
harvesting!”
Within
minutes the colony of Asperatus expanded, spinning out on mighty
mechanical arms as teams of riggers linked walkways amongst the
factories. Out on the very edges, giant "cloud eaters", the many bladed
harveters were already chewing their way into the mountains of
cloudmass. Atop the warehouses, giant envelopes unfurled and began to
expand filling with the cloud clippings. The precious harvest of raw
cloud sucked up into the giant cloud storage balloons ready to be used.
Before long the familiar piston sounds struck up as the giant cloud
rendering factories pulled the raw cloud from the stores and through a
process not dissimilar to distillation produced Asperatus gold, the essential element that keeps clouds afloat; luftgas to some, light air
to others, whatever you wish to call it, it matters little, but for the
population of Asperatus, it was all that kept them alive.

Day
2 has arrived and the Fairelands are in full swing, there are reports
of disturbances across the realms and the Tiny keepers of the peace, the
Faireland Marshalls have been patrolling visibly. No doubt some poor
Faire-goer will contravene a law and find themselves at the mercy of
Faireland justice, (an oxymoron of the first order). It seems that the
reverberations of the unweaver's attempts to disrupt the faire are still
tangible but keep a tight hold to your hat and plunge into the
Fairelands to see what short-lived wonders are there to behold.

Far
below the forward lookout point, suspended beneath the vast envelope of
the mighty Asperatus, hangs the bridge, the nexus of all that happens
in the airborne community that now carries its name.

A
Thunderhead class vessel, that last known of its kind, the Asperatus
was built to convey the cream of society; the engineers, the scientists
and their entourages on research missions of scientific and mechanical
discovery. When the dusting came, many of her class perished in their
moorings, those in flight perished soon after as fuel diminished and
inevitably brought them back to the ground. By pure chance of timing the
Asperatus had been on a research flight testing the latest discoveries
in the natural sciences that held great prospects for the future of
manned flight; discoveries that would become ever more important as
events unfolded.

The purple cloud formation filled sky now, golden lights arcing through the eye of the storm.

“Steady now, hold our course. The turbulence of the confluence is written as legend. Last time it came to us an entire flotilla of research balloons was lost and never seen again.”

“There ain’t a storm that the Asp can’t master, sir.”

“That may be so, Pilot Anderson, but...” The captain had no need to conclude his sentence as all those in the cabin looked out to the smaller factory vessels ranked alongside them, factories and warehouses that doubled as homes to their families. “Fleet Engineering. Report please.”

A distant voice leaked from the brass tube drowning in the howl of multi dimensional winds that curled about them.

“Everything is holding sir. We had a harvester break loose but the maintenance division were on it right away and it is securely chained back in place.” The captain nodded.

“Hold our course, Pilot, hold her steady. It’s about to get rougher.”

----------------------

The Fantasy Faire opened today at 9am SLT. In what has almost become a tradition of the Faire, the preceding day was blighted by systemic issues and the Faire teams of builders and merchants worked long hours to finish as best they could.

The opening hours are always turbulent. What would you expect when 11 worlds are torn from their own dimensions and slammed together in ours? But the turbulence is always secondary to the excited hoards that run from land to land seeking the new and shiny, or perhaps rusty.Don’t miss your opportunity to explore these amazing lands that will only be available to us for 10 short days.